


Do you want the truth or something beautiful?

by mandsangelfox



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M, michael is still a mess, michael the dramatic disaster bi, more tags to be added as the story goes on - Freeform, sibling relationships, the evans triplets rule the world
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-07-30 09:34:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20095111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandsangelfox/pseuds/mandsangelfox
Summary: Anybody who was anybody in New York City knew who the Evans family was. Rich, influential, generous and charitable to a fault.





	1. Stories To Tell

**Author's Note:**

> This will always be a thing but my thanks will go out to [estel-willow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/estel_willow/pseuds/estel_willow) for being my ever supportive cheerleader and fantastic beta

Anybody who was anybody in New York City knew who the Evans family was. Rich, influential, generous and charitable to a fault. They were the kind of people you wanted to be on good terms with, especially if you had a hope in hell of making something out of yourself in the city they all but ran. For all their good fortune and apparent success, it would seem that the Powers That Be decided that there was one thing that they would not be blessed with: children. Fortunately, they didn’t let something as trivial as human biology stop them from becoming parents and they adopted three children relatively quickly and easily.

Isobel was headstrong, confident and outspoken with a zest for life unrivaled by children her own age. It was as though she knew who she was and wasn’t afraid to let everybody else know about it, there was never a dull moment with Isobel.

Max was shy at first with a very sweet attentive nature, a sensitive soul or at least that was what they were told, but he had a fierce protective streak that could at times blow up in his face, but he always meant well.

And Michael? Oh boy, where do you even begin?


	2. Burning The Candle At Both Ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Just open the door, Michael. Maybe if you’d answer your phone once in a while I wouldn’t have to be banging on your door at four in the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [estel-willow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/estel_willow/pseuds/estel_willow) for beta'ing and to all the people who have cheerleaded me so far to actually get my ass into gear to write this!

In hindsight with all his intelligence, Michael Evans should have had the world at his feet but honestly, that was a lot of _effort_ and for the longest time he hadn’t really been in a place where he’d wanted to do anything than _indulge_. It was easier, simpler, and definitely much better than trying to be something - or rather somebody - he was not. He knew that both Max and Isobel despaired of him but that was okay, they lived life their way and he lived life his, it didn’t matter to him. 

It was late, or early, he didn’t really know what the time was but at some point he’d extracted himself from between the naked bodies on either side of him and tugged on a pair of boxers before he’d sought out the familiarity of his large plush couch. And, more importantly, his weed. He’d been smoking since he was fourteen and not much had changed even as he’d “matured” or whatever it was you were supposed to do as you grew. He was still the same Michael Evans he had been in high school though, admittedly, he was a lot rougher around the edges these days than he had been back then, more guarded and less likely to open himself up and let people see the real him. 

Nope, no thank you, it was so much easier to be constantly ‘on’ with money to burn and parties to throw. Nobody asked questions, nobody wanted to dig under all that superficiality and that was just fine by him. It wasn’t like he was lacking for company after all and though they weren’t the best influences they did like to have fun and that was all that Michael was looking for. 

With the lights dipped low and joint now fully rolled, Michael sunk back into the pillows after having secured a lighter which he used to catch the tip of the joint. A short inhale followed by a distinct lounging into the soft material around him accompanied the first true drag that was taken. Idly, he was aware that his phone was buzzing but it was on silent for a reason, so he could do what he was doing right now: completely ignoring it. 

Sometimes he just didn’t want to be bothered. It didn’t even matter that the caller ID was flagging up as ‘mom’. He’d call her back later, he always did, even if he often ended up wishing that he hadn’t because she did like to lecture him about doing something more worthwhile and meaningful with his life. Like Max and Isobel. He knew she didn’t mean to but the endless comparisons between him and his siblings could be grating, and very mentally taxing. She just didn’t seem to understand that they’d all picked very different paths; Max had decided to devote his life to helping people as a paramedic whereas Isobel had gone the route of opening up her own company selling perfumes and handbags and other things that women apparently went crazy for. 

He exhaled a steady stream of smoke and his lips caught in a devil-may-care smirk as his bed partners had stirred, barely bothering with clothes as they appeared in the doorway. He didn’t even have to say anything before the pair of them were walking over to join him, one happily and confidently straddling his hips as the other plucked the joint from his fingers.

“Hey,” Michael complained though he was immediately distracted by the cherry-red nail that pressed against his lower lip. “Mm?” He asked, tipping his head back to get a much better look at the brunette who was as comfortable on his lap as she had been under him earlier that evening. 

She grinned at him. “You gotta share your things.”

“And what if I don’t?”

The brunette’s teeth caught on her lower lip as her hand slipped much lower and found distinct purchase causing Michael to draw in a sharp breath. “Maybe there’s no round three.”

He tsk’ed quietly under his breath and had been about to reply with something equally as teasing if not for the sudden and unwelcome _buzzing_ sound of his apartment intercom. Seriously, what the hell? Who the fuck was it at his door at this time of night? Maybe, if he ignored it for long enough, whoever it was would get the message and go away. 

Only whoever it was didn’t seem to understand that a lack of response meant to leave him the fuck alone as that buzzer kept fucking _buzzing_ which, quite honestly, was throwing him off his game somewhat, and that meant he couldn’t even enjoy the brunette who had sunk to her knees in front of him as the redhead nibbled on his ear. Well, _fuck_. More than a little pissed that some asshole at his door had come between him and a perfectly good blow job, Michael untangled himself, leaving the girls to get acquainted with one another, as he stalked over to jam his finger over the ‘answer’ button.

“What?!”

“Don’t you ‘what’ me, Michael Evans,” came a distinctly familiar voice, one he knew all too well, and immediately he regretted his impulsive response.

“Shit, Isobel, do you know what time it is?”

“Just open the door, Michael. Maybe if you’d answer your phone once in a while I wouldn’t have to be banging on your door at four in the morning.”

Michael felt his jaw tick but relented because why wouldn’t he? Isobel was his sister and there must be something big happening for her to come all this way at four am. Thankfully he was at least half decent and it wasn’t like Isobel hadn’t seen him both in less clothing on _and_ in significantly worse states like that time in high school- Nope, not doing that, Michael shook his head to stop himself from taking an unwelcome waltz down memory lane.

“Finally,” Isobel exclaimed as she swanned in past him. 

She came to a halt in the lounge and her eyes narrowed at the sight of the two women on the couch. If looks could kill then there was no way either of them would have made it out of his apartment still breathing. 

“Leave.”

The instruction was aimed at the women but they took one look at her and laughed. It was, quite honestly, the worst thing they could have done as you did not mess with Isobel Evans, not if you valued your life. It was evident in how she promptly marched on over to them and all but dragged them off the couch, pushing them in the direction of the door, clothes or no clothes, she did not care one bit.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Isobel?” Michael challenged as he tried to at least make Isobel see reason and let the women get their clothes. Isobel levelled Michael with the sort of look he’d only ever seen aimed at people she hated and that was more than enough to stop him in his tracks. 

“I think to, quote a movie I watched a very long time ago, I’m _taking out the trash_.” And with that, both women were shoved out of Michael’s apartment and the door was slammed in their aghast faces. “Seriously, Michael, when are you actually going to do something with your life that doesn’t involve getting wasted and having sex?”

He’d been about to answer but Isobel just threw up her hands. “You know what, nevermind. I didn’t come here to have a go at you over your lifestyle choice.”

“So why did you come?”

Michael watched all the frustration, anger and disappointment melt off Isobel like the polar caps were doing in response to global warming. Immediately, he was concerned. “What is it?”

Isobel breathed in and lifted her gaze to look at Michael. “Rosa Ortecho is dead, she was hit by a drunk driver.”

Michael felt his stomach drop because whilst he’d never been particularly close to the Ortecho family he knew that Max was, and by extension, Isobel was too so the loss must have hit them both hard. 

“Fuck,” he uttered before tugging Isobel into a hug which, thankfully, was returned despite how pissed she was at him. That would explain all the missed calls then. Shit, now he felt like a terrible person for ignoring them.

“Her funeral is in a couple of days so we’re flying out to attend it.”

“All of us?” Michael asked, just to be certain.

Isobel drew back a little to give him her classic _’really?’_ look at which point he simply consented, nodding his head, drawing her back in. “Okay, got it. All of us.”

The next few days would be interesting that was for sure.


	3. Karma's a bitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But then Alex turned to look at him over his shoulder and Michael’s breath caught in his throat.
> 
> Yep, he was fucked. He couldn’t do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [estel-willow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/estel_willow/pseuds/estel_willow) for her mad beta'ing skillz again!

It was surreal, leaving New York City, and heading back to a relatively small town in what felt like the middle of bumfuck nowhere, but that was exactly what the Evans were doing. Well, Max, Isobel and Michael were. 

Michael didn’t really do nerves, or anything approaching anxiety, because life was way too short for that bullshit but the further they got from New York and the closer they got to Roswell the more fidgety he became. So much so that Isobel had to reach over Max at one point and catch hold of his wrist. 

“Would you stop that?”

Michael shrugged his shoulders as he tossed her a toothy grin. “Sorry, can’t help it. You know how I get when I’m flying.”

The look thrown his way by Max suggested that his brother could smell bullshit but to his credit, he didn’t say anything. He just went back to reading whatever-the-fuck he was reading. It looked like some sort of hyper-intellectualised poetry from some unknown random author because Max, for all his strengths, was a total Hipster. All he was missing was the glasses because of course Max Evans had perfect vision, Michael did not, although he hid that fact very well by using contact lenses. 

Hopefully, he’d remembered to pack those because if not he was cracking out the tortoiseshell monstrosities that passed for eyewear as he’d never bothered updating them because why would he? He hardly ever wore them, after all.

“Whatever, just for the love of God _quit fidgeting_.”

“Love you too,” Michael tossed back with the sort of shit eating grin that he knew got on Isobel’s nerves because obviously he had nothing better to be doing with his time. Honestly, it was just good to have something to take his mind off the fact that they’d be landing soon and the indisputable reality that not only were they coming back for a funeral but that they would also, undoubtedly, run into a bunch of people that Michael had spent years trying to forget.

Some more than others.

But whatever. 

The plan was, if he had his way, going to go something like this: get in, attend the funeral, give out the appropriate amount of condolences and then, when it wasn’t a complete douchebag move, get the hell out of dodge with whatever dignity he had left still intact. Of course, there was always the potential for his plans to be foiled, the best laid plans and all, but Michael liked to think he was smart enough to be able to think circles around that particular phenomena. Even if he’d had a very flirtatious on-off relationship with Murphy’s Law over the years.

Of course he didn’t have much time to think about the exact ins and outs of his plan because the pilot’s voice was announcing that it was time to get belted in. They were about to land. Michael ignored the twisting in the pit of his stomach, wondering if he’d made the biggest mistake of his life by agreeing to come back to the place he had left behind to attend a funeral of a girl he barely knew.

Still, Isobel wanted -needed - him and, selfish as he might be at times, when it came to Isobel he was willing to do pretty much anything. Even at the expense of his own sanity and emotional wellbeing it would seem. Still, he was probably freaking out over nothing; it wasn’t as though people would cause a scene at a funeral so maybe things would work out and he wouldn’t feel like he’d been suckerpunched in the stomach as soon as he clasped eyes on _him_ again.

Isobel either knew what he was thinking or had the mistaken impression that he was nervous about the plane landing because one minute he was clutching the edge of his seat and the next her hands were wrapped around his, a soft smile on her lips, a smile he found damn near impossible to return. Max looked more patient than Michael would have done at someone leaning over him, so clearly ignoring his discomfort to reassure Michael.

Okay, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe.

Oh what a fool he was because after they’d landed, gotten through security and grabbed their luggage it became all too apparent that Michael must have done something pretty fucking awful in his previous life. Karma was most certainly the pettiest of bitches because waiting for them in arrivals, clad in a sinfully tight pair of jeans and a leather jacket that Michael was pretty damn sure he must have paid extra to have it fit him like a second skin, was Alex Manes.

The same Alex Manes that had one day upped and vanished without a single word of goodbye and Michael shot Isobel a look that, if it were a weapon, would have killed her right where she stood. 

“What?” She hissed quietly. “You think _I_ had something to do with this?”

“Uh, yeah,” Michael returned in an answering hiss, trying to keep his annoyance off his face. 

Isobel didn’t even bother replying but if her epic eye roll was any indication, Michael was going to hear about this later. Well, _fine_, like he cared. Not when he had far more important things to worry about like the fact he looked somebody who had just been stuck on a plane for hours and Alex, well, he looked like he was auditioning for the front cover of Playgirl.

“Hey Alex,” Max greeted with a warm smile and the pair exchanged a hug before he did the same with Isobel and she asked about how Liz and her family were doing. Michael stubbornly ignored the reaction Alex’s voice had on him, a stirring of warmth, a familiar longing and fuck, he should be over _this_, over _him_. It wasn’t even like they had anything of particular merit and it was pathetic for him to keep clinging on to memories that weren’t even that impressive. Beyond pathetic. Jesus, what he wouldn’t give for a drink or a joint right about now. 

And then he looked at him and Michael hoped his face didn’t give away his internal thought processes. “Michael, hey,” Alex offered a moment later. 

“Manes,” Michael greeted curtly, with a small nod of his head, and ignoring what looked like a flicker of hurt in those deep chocolate brown eyes of his. Whatever, he didn’t care. Nope, not him. No caring here. 

Alex caught himself a second later and ducked his head, leaning down to pick up Isobel’s bag. “Let’s get out of here.”

Michael shot a further look in Isobel’s direction (which she promptly ignored as she hurried to catch up with Alex) meaning that it was up to Max to clasp his hand around the back of Michael’s neck and pull him into step beside him.

He could do this, he could.

But then Alex turned to look at him over his shoulder and Michael’s breath caught in his throat.

Yep, he was fucked. He couldn’t do this.


End file.
